


an array of dreams (all including you)

by holymackerel



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Depression, I don't know what I'm doing, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, Past Lives, Reincarnation, Slow Build, all deaths are featured in the titan universe, future tags to be added, just dumb boys reuniting really, the babies in the modern au are safe, this might get real angsty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-21 21:53:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3705753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holymackerel/pseuds/holymackerel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean has accepted that he’d live through life struggling with his nightmares of towering walls and blood stained comrades; menthol cigarettes and his sunny freckled friend being the only two reliable sources to provide even a slither of comfort. Until he is greeted with a familiar pair of green eyes, and maybe, just maybe, things will be alright.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. pictures of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> connie is an insistent little shit (but Jean loves him anyway).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello ^.^  
> this work is a result of endless thinking about one of my OTPs, it is also my first fanfic.  
> i hope you enjoy it, feedback would be greatly appreciated.  
> (foreword: i don't know what the hell i'm doing so please bear with me, dear readers.)

_A thicket of tall, towering trees surrounds Jean’s vision. The stench of dewy pine and metallic blood wafts in the air. Cries of anguish echo through Jean’s ears, shocked mutterings of names and pleads._

_“Hang in there, please don’t leave me.”_

_“You can make it through this, fight!”_

_Jean is all too familiar with these useless words and their inevitable, shattering result: death. It plagues his nightmares every time his eyes slip close. But Jean’s mind is too occupied with coming to terms with the fate of his own comrade to even spare a glance to the surrounding members of the Survey Corps, the ones who still breathe harrowing gulps of air, and the ones who have long gasped their last breath. His shaky arms are encircled around his enemy, well; at least that’s what they call each other. Slowly dimming green eyes gaze back at him, a weak tan hand reaches to stroke Jean’s pale face. Jean silently shakes, warm tears sliding uncontrollably down his cheeks. He caresses his comrade’s resting hand, an anchor to hold onto, though it won’t be stable for much longer. Eren wheezes beneath him, the pool of blood seeping from him rapidly becoming larger, threatening the minutes Eren has left._

_Eren is going to die._

_The thought hits Jean, but not like a punch in the gut. Rather a feeling of deep-setting torment, an anguish that numbs like a poison that seeps into his bones and engulfs his entire body, his existence. It’s too early for his idiot to leave the world. Not yet, not yet, not yet, not yet, not yet. The thought chants through his mind._

_In the disbelief of it all, Jean desperately tries to aid the critical state in which Eren is in. That’s what he’s being doing all this time, right? Resolving errors and fixing broken things. When a troublesome rip in his uniform formed, Jean grabbed a needle and thread. One day, a thud interrupted his sketching at home, he came to find an injured canary lying on his window-sill. He nursed the helpless creature back to health. So why couldn’t he help Eren? He sees no reason why._

_Tearing a long shred of the forest green material of his cape, he wraps and tightens the fabric around Eren’s injured thigh. Blood stains Jean’s rough fingers, the severe trembling makes it difficult to complete the bandaging but after several desperate attempts, he is finally satisfied with the result. Eren protests in a hoarse wheeze, “Jean, don’t. Don’t try, please. Go help the others, go now. Don’t stay with me.” Eren’s limp hands attempt to shove Jean away._

_“NO! I can help you. I can fix this, I can fix this.” Jean sobs, hunched over his comrade._

_“It’s too soon. You can make it through this, you’re a stubborn asshole. You can’t leave me yet, I won’t let you.” His teeth grit, the words are hard to form. He stutters between broken sobs and clutches Eren’s shirt. Jean ignores the intrusive thought that enters his mind, you’re repeating what they all say during times like this, Jean._

_Eren can’t muster up the strength to retort to his insult, he feels vision begin to blur._

_“JUST STAY, YOU BASTARD! I’ll do anything. I’ll stop flirting with Mikasa, I’ll stop calling you names. God, Eren, just please don’t leave.”_

_Eren grasps Jean’s cold hands, weary fingers caressing his fists._

_“You wouldn’t give up teasing Mikasa for a day of peace away from Con and Sash, Horseface.” Eren whispers hoarsely, a weak smile painting his dangerously pale features. Jean buries his head in Eren’s neck, salty tears wetting Eren’s icy skin._

_“Jean, you need to go see if the others are okay. Please, just leave. There’s nothing you can do, I have to go.” Eren quietly begs, uttering his words as firmly as possible._

_“No. No, you’re not going. We haven’t defeated the titans yet.” Jean convinces, trying to console Eren and himself. Eren chokes, his breaths becoming shallower and shallower, viridian coloured eyes widening in panic. He feels everything begin to slip away._

_Jean holds Eren tighter and trembles, his sobs resonate through the air, desperate and harrowing._

_Eren is nearing closer, closer to what, he doesn’t know. But he feels it pulling him in, closing the curtains and enveloping him in darkness, guiding him to somewhere else, somewhere free from a diminishing humanity and confining walls. Somewhere void of an amber eyed boy, somewhere he isn’t ready to go to. Jean, his Jean. His silly little enemy, his comrade, his friend, the stupid boy that occupies his thoughts, the cause of the yearning aches in his heart. He needs to tell him, he doesn’t want to leave this world with an extra regret on the forming towering pile._

_Jean brings his trembling hands to brush Eren’s face; his lips begin to pepper his comrade’s face with brief kisses. The scent of Eren tickles his senses, the comforting fragrance of pine, the training grounds’ signature honeysuckle, and something he can only word as Eren._

_Eren wheezes, struggling to fill his lungs with air._

_“Jean.” He murmurs softly._

_His silly enemy turns to meet his eyes, pale cheeks streaked with tears and dirt, amber eyes hazy with tears and the struggle of helplessness. He takes Eren’s hands in his and lightly kisses his knuckles._

_“What is it, Eren?” Jean mutters shakily, carefully holding Eren’s gaze._

_“I-I love you.” Eren rasps, wracking with coughs and deep inhalations. His hands begin to grow colder, succumbing to the chilling, beckoning of death._

_Jean’s sobs attack him all over again, he is overwhelmed with powerful emotions, fighting to dominate and confuse his reactions. A pained grin etches on his lips._

_“I love you too, you ass.” A chuckle slips from his traumatised self._

_“No homo, though.” Eren whispers and shoots a wavering cheeky grin. Jean scoffs in reply, not trusting his wobbly voice._

_The pair of idiots continue to gaze at each other, eyes speaking thoughts that don’t need to be voiced, flashes of admiration, fear and regret reflecting the other’s. Jean presses his forehead to Eren’s, with fingers interlocked, he feels Eren’s grasp slacken and the light of his green eyes dim to a pale expressionless teal._

**Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.**

Jean wakes up with a start, an alert from his phone succeeding to pull him out of his dream; his nightmare, the sort that terrorise his mind every night. Jean touches his cheeks to find that the wetness of tears stains them, and in that moment, the entirety of his dream invades his memory. The cries of nearby soldiers, Eren drenched in blood, fleeting touches, hushed confessions and the cease of Eren’s breathing. The dream plays through his head like a roll of film, each slide causing a pang in his heart to spread a heavy ache throughout his body. Jean’s body begins to tremble involuntary; he tucks himself beneath his dark sheets and curls up. His sadness has such depth and force; it feels as if Jean is being submerged into a sea. Its powerful waves that envelop him are an unwelcomed embrace; they wrap him up in feelings of dread and fear of the unknown, and then resume plunging him into the icy sea. His tired legs give in and he is no longer able to keep his head above water, the claws of the sea ensnare his ankles and consume him, pulling him to the deepest parts of the ocean floor. There, he encounters dangerous creatures with daggers for fins, they murmur loathsome reminders in his ears, the only thing he can do is block his ears and will them to disappear.

Jean attempts to steady his panicked breaths and calm his heartbeat.

_Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out._

As Jean feels his panic alleviate, the walls begin to feel less confining and the ache burdening his head abates. Though he hasn’t recovered enough to remove his arms wrapped around him, serving as an anchor to keep himself from slipping. He feels the disquieting hollowness spread throughout his body and settle within him, he still feels the ghost of Eren’s touch, the soft brushes of his dying hands. The distinct smell of pine and honeysuckle still pervades in his bedroom, the sight of dimmed teal eyes ingrained in the back of his mind.

 _I should be used to it by now_ , the blonde boy thinks.

Jean has had this particular dream many times before, but the feelings puncture him like a fresh wound every time. Like an intruding memory, apparent memories that have been affecting him since he was 12 years young. When his first nightmare visited, Jean’s parents dismissed it as a simple dream, oblivious to the deep wound that the dream was carving in his mind. As the nightmares continued, his parents finally began to take concern and consider paying for Jean to see a professional. They had tried everything; the therapists didn’t scratch the stronghold of Jean’s recurring dreams. And Jean grew tired of nodding and pretending to listen to shrinks, it made him feel like a goddamn drone. Medication relieved Jean temporarily but his parents noticed how quickly he emptied the bottles and the drugged up haze in his eyes, so that coping method got eliminated entirely.

Last year, Jean left home armed with a plastic bag filled with clothes and a couple boxes containing his novel and film collection, and a sigh of content and relief. Jean was finally free from false looks of sympathy and incessant questioning about his future, so that day went pretty fucking well. The only thing that he pained him to leave behind was his close range to Marco, his dear freckled friend. Marco is the only person excluding therapists and his parents whom know of Jean’s dreams. When he first dreamt of encountering Marco with half his body burnt; it was his breaking point. That night, his twelve year old self ran to Marco’s window, barefoot and wearing ratty pyjamas, cheeks streaked with tears and eyes clouded with distress. Marco said nothing and held Jean until they awoke in the morning. Since then, Jean told Marco of his dreams, the towering walls, the military branches, the members of the 104th trainee squad, an icy eyed commander and his steel eyed weapon, his certain feelings for a green eyed shitbag that made him want to punch (kiss) him senseless. Marco is his sense of calm in this shitty, ceaseless storm.

Finally feeling stable enough to get out of bed, he pads to the bathroom. The hot droplets of water begin to wake him up out of his drowsy state, but it doesn’t soothe the heavy weight in his chest. The sort of heavy that feels like someone scooped out his heart and filled it will heavy thorns and weights, only then to indifferently shove it back inside him. He tries to think of anything but Eren, he ponders what he’ll try to get done today, whether he’ll go out at all. Large crowds tend to suffocate him.

Jean steps out on the icy, white tiling and towel dries himself. He pulls on a pair of black sweats and a worn out band tee, _The Cure_ ’s logo adorning it.

Entering his living room, Jean plants himself on his black leather couch. Pulling out his phone, he sees the time is nearly late afternoon. Waking up at absurd hours is just one of the many perks of avoiding dreaded sleep, really. Giving in to tapping his missed notifications, he sees 4 missed calls from Connie. Reluctantly, he returns the call.

“JEANNY BOY! Why didn’t you answer my calls, dude?” Connie complains loudly, causing Jean to quickly flinch away from his phone.

“I was busy flower arranging, the usual.” Jean mutters, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I didn’t know you ever had a hobby, Jean. Anyway, some dude I know is hosting a hella sick party at the beach. You in?” Jean can practically hear his shit-eating grin on the other side of the line.

“I’d rather spend my time caressing my asshole with a chainsaw.” Jean deadpans.

“AWWWW, Jeanny boy. Don’t be like that, you gotta loosen up. Come have a good time.” Connie continues sulking.

Jean lets out a heavy sigh, “Fine, maybe I’ll make an appearance.”

“HELL YEAH! I’ll text you the details. See you later, man.” 

“Yeah, bye.”

Carelessly chucking his phone on the coffee table, Jean growls in frustration. There goes his intimate night with cookie dough and Netflix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the pair of idiots finally reunite next chapter.  
> let's just say, it doesn't go too smoothly.
> 
> chapter title song: 'pictures of you' - the cure.


	2. tongue tied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a shit ton of lit cigarettes, idiots meeting, late night wrestles, milkshakes and masturbation stories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the late update!  
> my motivation comes in spikes, so i'll try to summon it up more often.  
> please enjoy and if you have any feedback, do not hesitate to leave a comment ^.^

The soothing crackling of a half-assed made bonfire and drunken laughter sounds through the sleepless night. The flickers of the flames remind him of his freckled faced friend, he quietly tucks the thought away.

Mindlessly strolling among the crowds of withering bodies, Connie guides Jean with an arm slung over his shoulder. The strong scent of sweat, Ymir’s shitty booze and salt water pervades through the breezy, dewy air. Jean can vaguely comprehend the lame jokes that Connie is so thoughtfully _yelling_ into his ear, he’s too busy attempting to calm his erratic heart. _Calm the fuck down, Kirstein. Just a college party, right?_

Jean barely suffered with social anxiety till he began to isolate himself from the others; it became difficult to face his new college friends when he couldn’t shake the recurring dreams from his mind; when he couldn’t stop picturing the blood dripping down their faces. Apparently they grew accustomed to his skittish behaviour, as to why Connie urged him to attend this particular party, he hasn’t the faintest idea. Jean sizes up his surroundings, Ymir is sitting rather cosily next to an angelic looking girl near the bonfire. His heart drops, the thump thumping of his increasing heartbeat filling his ears, blocking out all the other surrounding noises. He feels like he’s been doused in cold water, only then to be engulfed in beckoning flames.

Petite figure, curious blue eyes, soft blonde locks and a twinkling, enchanting laugh.

_Historia._

A flood of memories unveils in Jean’s mind, he breaks free from Connie’s grasp and stumbles to the sandy shore of the beach and sits. _What if Eren is here too?_ The countless thoughts pour into his mind like a flash flood.

He haphazardly reaches for his pack of smokes in his denim jacket pocket, trembling fingers attempt to light the stick between his lips; after several tries, the end of the cigarette is finally ignited. He focuses on the red and yellow hue at the end of the cigarette, calming himself down by the inhale and exhale of his lungs. The wisps of smoke threading throughout the air become captivating, patterns ghosting among the moonlight. He is too lost in his reverie to realise Sasha sat next to him, warm brown eyes observing quietly, mouth occupied by her harmonious munching of a slice of pizza.

“What’s on your mind, Jeanny boy?” Sasha suddenly speaks.

“SHIT. Sasha, what the fuck?” Jean shrieks, dropping his cigarette in the process.

Sasha begins giggling uncontrollably, nearly choking on her beloved pizza.

“Didn’t mean to scare ya, you wimp.” She teases.

Jean pouts and begins to light another cigarette.

“Seriously though, Jean. What’s got you so down in the dumps?”

“Nothing, just don’t wanna be here.”

“Why wouldn’t want to? Look at that beautiful snack table over there, look at it.” She gestures towards the heaped table. “Don’t you just want to pour those potato crisps all over your body?” An excited gleam appears in her eyes.

“You’re ridiculous; I think you should convert your relationship status to ‘in an open relationship’. I’m surprised Con isn’t jealous about all your steamy rendezvous with items of food.”

“Connie accepts my passionate love. Besides, he’s too busy revelling in our steamy rendezvous to care.”

“Fuck no, Sash. Spare me the details of your kinky bedroom sex, please.”

Sasha throws her head back and guffaws, “Speaking of kinky bedroom sex… has my handsome Jean been sweeping any boys off their feet?”

Jean scoffs, “I had an interaction with a 40 year old cashier today, that’s the most action I’ve got going on in my life.”

“If you escort him to bed, maybe he’ll give you some discounts.”

“Damn, you propose a tempting plan.”

“I try my hardest, pun intended.”

Just as Jean begins to voice his protests at the lame pun, a drunken yell is heard from the gathering around the camp fire.

“LET’S FUCKING PLAY ‘MURDER IN THE DARK’, GUYS.”

“What the fuck are we? Elementary students?” Jean grumbles, discontent at the idea of drunken young adults playing a mere game of hide and seek combined with tag during the night.

“C’mon, you grumpy ass. It’ll be _funnnnn_.” Sasha sings, her signature puppy dog eyes reappearing.

Jean figures he can get away with hiding behind some bush until the game is over and then escape to the comfort of his home, he can’t risk getting trampled by the ‘murderer’ (tagger) in the dark. Also, Connie would grab Jean’s ankles and pretend to sob if he caught Jean attempting to disappear from this shitty party.

“Fine.” he mutters, narrowing his amber eyes.

“THE GAME BEGINS.”, the voice from the bonfire shouts again.

Sasha leaves with an exuberant grin and runs to the cluster of trees on the right. Jean takes a long deep sigh, _let’s fucking get this over with_.

He leaps off his feet and quickly sprints to the tall, dark array of bushes towards the left, out of sight from the bonfire. He scuttles behind the thickest foliage and plops down onto the sand, wrapping his arms around his legs miserably. Faint lyrics play from the bonfire in the background.

_Take me to your best friend’s house. Going ‘round this roundabout, oh yeah._

_Take me to your best friend’s house. I loved you then and I love you now, oh_ yeah.

Jean’s never been one for indie pop but he can’t help but tap his foot along to the catchy beat of _‘Tongue Tied’_. He reaches for his pack of smokes in his pocket again, looking to soothe his cold state and idle fingers when an incoming body dives near his hiding place, crashing onto Jean. The considerate asshole lets out a throaty scream and lands a punch on Jean’s cheekbone.

“OW, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?” Jean screeches, lunging after his attacker and returning the gesture with a fist to the face.

“YOU FUCKWIT, YOU’LL PAY FOR THAT.” The voice grits out, his attacker sounds awfully familiar somehow but his mind is too hazy from the punch to pay any attention. The pair wrestles on the sand, pulling each other’s hair, half-hearted punches landing everywhere. Jean pins his attacker down and straddles him at the waist, as he is about to strike again, he catches a glimpse of viridian eyes before they are scrunched closed in fear, awaiting Jean’s next blow.

Jean is frozen, his clenched fist hanging uselessly in the air. All the air his lungs previously inhaled seems to have escaped; the nostalgic smell of pine and honeysuckle took his breath. His attacker pushes Jean off him and stands up, brushing the sand off his jeans and nurses his injured tan face.

 _Eren, it’s Eren. Eren, Eren, my Eren_. Jean’s thoughts repeat his name over and over.

Long tan limbs, broad comforting shoulders, a mess of dark brown hair, an elegant jaw, breathtaking green eyes. Eyes that could provide the most pleasurable slither of comfort and the sheer intensity that could kill a man.

Jean doesn’t know what to do, he wants to envelop Eren in his arms and connect his lips with his own, he wants to send another flight of punches towards him for leaving him all these years, he wants to immerse himself in the icy ocean because this can’t be real. But it is.

Eren catches Jean’s dumbfounded stare, “What the hell are you looking at? Do you wanna go again?!”

Jean meekly shakes his head and hides his face in his hands, at loss of what to do.

“Hey, are you alright? I didn’t mean to punch you in the face, you just scared the shit out of me when I landed on you.” concern colouring Eren’s words.

“Whatever.” Jean mumbles into his hands, his heart feels like it’s going to break free from his anatomy. Once again, he fumbles for his packet of cigarettes, unable to handle a situation like this without something to calm his uncontrollable nerves.

Eren plops down next to Jean with a resigned sigh, “Can I bum a smoke?”

Jean wordlessly hands Eren a cigarette, shaking hands lighting the cigarette between his past life’s crush’s lips, or past love, he doesn’t know. Jean was never good with identifying his feelings for Eren, what do you call someone who sends fire rushing through your veins, anyway? The delicate flame of the lighter illuminates Eren’s mesmerising features, gold specks appearing more visibly in his green eyes. Jean has to will his eyes to break their gaze.

“Jesus christ, you’re shaking like a leaf.” The owner of said green eyes observes.

“It’s cold, asshole.”

“Well, I don’t feel a thing.” He replies with a shit eating grin., slowly exhaling cigarette smoke. Jean is lost in the way he looks doing so.

“Not all of us are fucking space heaters.”

“Not all of us are weird pale hipster dudes lurking in bushes at the beach.”

“At least I don’t randomly land punches on those innocent pale hipster dudes.”

“Hey! I already apologised for that, and it’s not like you handled it peacefully either.”

“Touché, but I don’t accept your apology.”

“What do I need to do in order to receive that gracious apology, your grace?” Eren replies dryly, a smirk etched on his soft plump lips.

Jean ignores the stupid flutter in his chest.

“There’s nothing you can do, I can never trust a soul again.” Jean pouts and turns his head away, playing along with Eren’s little skit.

Eren breathes an airy chuckle, “Wanna go get a milkshake?”

“A milkshake? Are we going to go to a drive-in cinema too? Is this a goddamn 80s movie?”

“Yeah, just let me get my letterman jacket and I’ll give you a ride in the back seat of my Camaro.” Eren teases, sly smirk still in place.

Jean’s cheeks light red and he silently thanks the dim lit night. “P-Please tell me you’re kidding.” Jean stammers, attempting to appear deadpan but failing miserably.

“Of course I am, doofus. I don’t even know your name.”

That hit Jean as if a car slammed directly on his chest, Eren doesn’t remember him. He doesn’t even remember his name.

“Can we just go? I’m fucking freezing.” Jean mutters, stubbing out his cigarette and lifting his ass off the ground.

“Have some patience, princess.” Eren mutters dryly, repeating Jean’s actions with that stupid grin on his face.Jean forgot how much he used to always smile, either a shit eating grin or a venomous frown was always etched on his face.

Eren and Jean walk in companionable silence to the car lot in proximity to the bonfire. “S’alright if we take your car? Connie drove me here.” Jean asks.

“Yeah, it’s my treat anyway.”

The pair strolls to a gritty blue, Ford Capri.

“Shit, you weren’t kidding about the 80s car, were you?” Jean observes.

Eren hums in affirmation, “My dad abandoned it so I made it mine.”

That made Jean wonder how Eren’s relationship with his dad is. Does he even have the same parents? Obviously he can’t voice these questions, not yet. Does he ever plan on telling Eren about his dreams? Jean tries to avoid thinking about it, he’s gonna try enjoy his time with Eren now. He can confront the nagging questions later.

They’re both seated; Eren’s car is pretty fucking messy. Strewn gum packets and CDs obviously been tossed carelessly. Jean peers at the back seat, wait, is that a fucking bra draped over the seat? Its white hue and laciness irks Jean. Of course, he’s probably straight.

Mac DeMarco’s _Goodbye Weekend_ begins playing from the speakers as Eren revs the engine.

Jean snickers, “Classic.”

Eren furrows his eyebrows in confusion, “What is?”

“You own indie stoner music on _CD_ and a car created before you escaped the womb, and you have the nerve to call me a fucking hipster.”

“Mac DeMarco is chill as fuck, don’t discriminate because you probably listen to sad bastard music.”

“I do not.”

“Get out your phone right now, and tell me what you were previously listening to.”

Jean gives Eren a lingering scowl and pulls his phone out of his jean pocket. Checking his recently played, he realises the shit Eren is gonna give him for this.

“Well?” Eren eagerly asks.

“Toxic by Britney Spears.” Jean says sarcastically, hoping to get out of this.

“Bull-fucking-shit, horseface. Tell me the truth now.”

The familiar nickname makes Jean’s chest ache sweetly. Persistent green eyes stare back at him defiantly, Jean sighs in defeat.

“Wish You Were Here, Pink Floyd.”

Eren whoops loudly, “I fucking knew it! “I do not listen to sad bastard music”, my ass.”

“How far is the goddamn diner from here? Because if I have to spend five more minutes in this shitty car with you I’m going to commit mass murder.”

“Well, aren’t you a bright ray of sunshine.”

“That’s what they tell me.” Jean mutters. Eren keeps that stupid heart-constricting smile on his face all the way to the diner, singing along to his stoner trash music. And no, his rough but gentle voice doesn’t make Jean want to make him pull the fuck over and kiss him senseless. I mean, how ridiculous would that be? _I’m eternally fucked_ , Jean thinks with sweet regret.

The pair of idiots are seated on the hood of Eren’s car, leisurely taking sips of their large (tastegasmic) milkshake, exchanging light-hearted insults and asking each other questions of awfully strange and random quality.

“Have you ever been caught masturbating?” Eren so appropriately inquires.

“Fuck no, have you?”

Eren turns red at that, an adorable sheepish expression on his face “Maybe.”

Jean doubles over in laughter at Eren's expression, nearly choking on his milkshake. “You poor soul.” He says in-between cackles.

“Shut up.” Eren mutters and takes a sip of his milkshake, still blushing and flustered.

“So, who caught you?”

“I’m not telling you that, not till you tell me your name.” Eren challenged.

“It’s Jean.”

“Jean.” He tries it out on his tongue, the name easily falling from his lips. Jean finds himself staring at said lips.

“And don’t you want to know my name, sir Jean?”

_I already know it, I already know you. I know the way you sleep and how many sugars you like in your tea and all your little Eren quirks._

“Enlighten me.” Jean voices instead.

“Eren, Eren Jaeger.”

Jean notices he still has the same last name.

“Nice to meet you, Eren, Eren Jaeger.”

Eren softly punches Jean in the shoulder.

“You’re lame and you’re an asshole, I want to see you again.”

Jean scoffs “Don’t pull a ring out, Jaeger.” Although an appreciative smile still graces his sharp features. “But, I suppose seeing your asshole self again wouldn’t entirely suck.”

“You’re such a charmer.” Eren says sarcastically.

They exchange goofy smiles and continue the night chatting about things of little semblance. Jean feels like he’s lounging on a hammock and rocking softly, each rock bringing him more peace and content. A hammock hung above a pit of fiery flames, that is, because Eren is an uncontrollable forest fire. If Jean ever wanted it easy then he wouldn’t have fallen for such a creature. Eren is dazzling, infuriating and complex. And Jean can’t get enough of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what is dialogue.
> 
> just a recap:  
> jean has already met marco, connie, sasha and ymir excluding historia and eren whom he met today.  
> i just wanted to clear that up for you all so no confusion arises.


End file.
